Page 17 of The Butcher's Wife
For one week of bliss, I hunted deer with my compound bow, drank pine needle tea, harvested cattail roots only a little past their prime, and slept shivering in my tent on the hard-ass ground. My back hurts, I’d kill a man for warm bread, and I smell god-awful, but no one could contact me, so I’m more at peace than I’ve been in years.
At least until I spot the beat-up silver Toyota Matrix across the street from my parking deck. Instead of pulling in, I let out a long sigh and drive to the end of the street to circle back.
Yeah, just what I thought. Fucking Mauro’s watching my place. Or, he should be anyway, seeing as how he’s looking at his phone and hasn’t noticed me driving past. I park and drum on the steering wheel, deep in thought.
I should probably go see what Caterpillar Brows thinks he’s doing watching my penthouse, but I haven’t showered in a week, and I’m about to choke on my own ball stench, so…fuck it.
I gotta haul all this shit to my place first and shower. I’ll just set an alarm for the middle of the night and scare the shit out of him later. Even if Turi sent him to watch my empty penthouse, he should know better than to be staring at his phone.
I pull out my phones from the glove compartment. The second my work phone boots up, the damn thing floods my notifications with a hundred and thirteen texts and forty missed calls. I drag a hand over my beard. There goes all that precious relaxation. I don’t see anything from Turi or any of his pet nerds from his cyber team, so at least nobody started World War III while I was out.
On my personal phone, I browse my family chat. Looks like my youngest sister Allegra finally popped out her baby—a fat little boy with a shock of dark hair. I mark all the photos with a heart and consider calling her until my stomach growls pitifully.
I pat my belly.Soon, buddy.
I jump out of my truck, the thud of my boots echoing off the concrete walls of the parking garage, and the impact knocks about five pounds of caked mud off. I haul mymassive ice chest to the ground. The thing’s packed to the gills with fresh deer meat, and I still had to give the extras to a couple of overjoyed teen hunters I came across on the trail.
I strap my backpack and bow to my back, brace myself, and lift. “Oof.”
Fuck, this thing’s heavy as shit. I’m half-tempted to see if the concierge will drag it in, but I’ve worked hard to make sure the employees here like me. I’m not about to fuck that up because I’m feeling a little tired.
I spend the long elevator ride up daydreaming about my plans for the night. First, obviously, a steaming hot shower. And you know what?Fuck it, a jerk-off session. Then, I’ll stuff myself with six entrees from the apartment’s in-house restaurant and pass out on the couch with a half-eaten pizza on my belly before I scare Mauro.
The moment the doors ding and open to my penthouse, all my plans fly out the window.
My place smellsdelicious. The sweet, tart smell of roasted tomatoes spikes a gush of saliva in my mouth.
What the fuck is this? None of my exes have access to my penthouse, and Turi’s overbearing, but he wouldn’t send someone ahead to cook me dinner for the moment I arrived. Did his head chef Conchetta let herself in so I wouldn’t starve?
From the elevator foyer, I glance around the living room. None of the furniture has been touched. If this is some kind of Dom-themed ambush, first off,kudosto the attacker because this has easily got to be the cleverest approach to lowering my defenses. Second, they should already know I’m here from the elevator doors opening.
Exhaustion snaps out of me, and I set the cooler down as softly as I can just inside the foyer. Straining my ears for odd sounds, I shuck off my backpack and grab my compoundbow. I pull an arrow out of the quiver, notching it in my bow in silent, fluid movements.
The oven beeps from around the length of the foyer, and something shuffles along the floor. Whoever it is, they aren’t trying very hard to disguise their presence. Lulling me into a false sense of security, maybe?
I check my phone again. Nothing from Turi or his head of cybersecurity, Worm. Maybe it’s one of my brothers—Bertino thinks it’s a fucking gag to drop by unannounced, and I keep forgetting to put him on the “Call First” list with the concierge. Probably not him, though—he’d sooner chop off his left nut than cook for me.
I inhale and step forward, aiming my bow toward the kitchen.
It’sher.
I lower my weapon.
All the grief I’d bottled up and ignored for a week comes back to drown me. No—fuck—no. I smother it with anger. Why thefuckis Serafina here, like I need any reminder of her dead sister?
Why is she in my penthouse? Why is shecooking?
Her back is to me as she chops a leafy green vegetable on the counter. The top of her hair is tied back, but the rest flows freely over her delicate shoulder blades.
She turns to me and shrieks, lifting the knife as the cutting board clatters to the floor. Even though I can’t see from here, I know whatever she’s been preparing has been sprayed all over the floor.
“Dom,” she exclaims. “You’re back!”
My new wife is wielding a knife at me. Her face is bare, and her whole body is on display in those tight clothes—pink bicycle shorts and a matching tank top that shows a tantalizing strip of tanned belly—as she slowly lowers theknife to the counter. Even though I’ve seen Serafina in plenty of bikinis over the years, this is the first time her slim figure has stirred interest in me.
I snap my gaze to her rueful face, annoyance settling into mine. Why is she surprised to see me? Could someone just sneak up on her like this?
“Who let you in?” I ask roughly, ignoring the blood rushing to my cock.
